My D&D Short Stories

[Emelia Synphia]

Just a few of my short stories I used to further flesh out my D&D world, figured I'd share some.

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The Liar and The Judge

Vecna sat amongst an array of books and tomes. Most of them were open and her multiple hands flipped through them writing periodically. However, the pages of the book were black, with blood red lettering that disappeared after each word was complete. Dipping one of several quills she was writing with, into a red inkwell, she placed it back onto the dark paper and continued to write. Several hours past with this repeating over and over again, as she filled the books with infernal writing that seemed to disappear before the eyes.

The chambers Vecna resided in were scattered with books, many of similar black pages, but they all were closed. These books were bound in a dark leathery substance, and sealed each with a blood red ruby clasp that had glowing runes on them. The room itself was an empty library, shelves lined the walls but lacked the books. Stained glass windows allowed in a meager amount of light that lit the room barely enough with the help of several candelabras along the walls. A single door of thick wood led out of the chamber.

A sudden knock at the door cracks through the room, without even looking up from her work, Vecna flicks one of her jeweled hands. The door effortlessly swings open and the light from the other side floods in only to be smothered and dimmed by shadows, while a figure steps through, and with a slam the door shuts.

The figure isn’t shrouded by the darkness within, but instead seems to repel, making the figure very distinguishable amongst the darkened features of the room. It’s a tall human man, seemingly in his late thirties. His hair is a platinum blonde that is swept back, a hard jaw is accompanied by a clean-cut beard, while gold orbs or brilliance look upon the room. He wears a Generals attire, a long black war coat bedecked in medals that hangs over his shoulders, a black tunic with an exquisite design stitched into it, with a set of plain black pants and shoes complimenting it all. The inside of the jacket is a deep crimson and contrasts greatly with the near all black of the rest of the outfit, bringing it all together.

Vecna stands up, her jeweled hands set their quills down, and extends two of her arms towards the man, “Dear Heironeous, what do I owe this honor that you’d visit your sister?” Her face curls into a childish smile of innocence and jubilation. Her features are quite starkly different than the man which she calls her brother.

Standing quite a few heads shorter than Heironeous, Vecna is childlike in most essences. Her skin is a blue-grey, while her hair is messily kept and deep black that seems to absorb the darkness around her. Horns raise from her head and are adorned with gold hanging jewelry, two eyes of red malice peer in the man’s direction while a third on the forehead looks around frantically. Sharp white teeth grin sweetly from her child like face. Her six arms sit at either side, all adorned in gold and gems, with a simple red dress covering her torso and legs. A string of skulls hangs from one of her left arms and wraps around her waist, and in one of her right hands she holds a staff of black wood.

“Vecna, you knew I was on my way, don’t make me for a fool,” the deep cold voice of the man carries through the room. He steps forward and places one hand on the sword at his hip, the other on the table in front of him, “Tell me sister, why do you hide yourself in secrecy and lie with a purpose to deceive. What is so wrong, that you can’t tell your own brother the meaning behind the deceit.”

The childish grin is stolen from Vecna’s face, as her lips curl into a sneer at the mention of deceit. “Dear Heironeous, do not misjudge mistrust for deceit. You understand not the big picture of the world around us, you only speak of honor and pride. Yet, you forget that our father and the other Primordial’s bring un-wrongful judgement upon our actions, forever confining us.” Her grin returns now, but this time much more sinister and twisted, “But dear Heironeous, no longer must our ways be judged. Brother, it is them that spin the deceit, that keep you tasked with things to distract you from their games. A pawn will not disobey if they don’t know anything else, and dear brother, you are nothing but a pawn in their elaborate plots for power.”

The golden eyes of Heironeous sharpen, as he glares at Vecna with suspicion before speaking with worried conviction, “You speak words of treachery, Vecna. The Primordial’s do not task me for wrongful judgements, they speak nothing but truths.” His voice echoes through the room hollowly, doubt slowly creeping onto his face.

“A heart of gold, that much is true, Dear Heironeous,” Vecna’s face softens once more, into an innocent smile of sincerity. “I would not deceive you, brother. I would not offer up these words if I was wrong, nor would you sit here and let me utter them if that was so. Look at the actions you have committed, they have you murder for near sport, because of a supposed slight they see. You are nothing but a toy, and they will throw you to the side like all those before us. Please, hear me out, we can stop the Primordial’s and their judgments.” Her voice is fraught with fear as she finishes. “I just ask, you don’t tell anyone of this. You are my brother, and the only thing I trust.” She hangs her head down and peers at her brother with innocent eyes from under her unkempt hair.

Heironeous sighs heavily, and walks around the table, approaching his sister and extending a hand. “You speak words that I do not understand, I do not know the slights you speak of. But, I will hear you out sister. That is my ultimate purpose, judgement. Fair and unbiased.”

Vecna grabs the hand and is pulled into his embrace. “Thank you, brother, dear Heironeous, we have much to discuss. But first, let me finish my writings, and we will talk.” She pulls away, a tear streaking across her childish features, which Heironeous wipes away with his thumb. Heironeous turns and exits the room, the door slamming shut behind him with the flick of Vecna`s hand. The fearful face she had put on all but disappears, as her mouth twists into a deceitful smile. Sitting back down, her many jeweled hands pick up their quills and continue to write in their infernal language.

 

[Emelia Synphia]

The Depths of The Drowned

Back and forth, back and forth, the feelings of the ship rocking on the waves always brought feelings of security to Sandra. The tug of the ship wheel as the rudder fought to keep the path straight and true, the wind blowing through her mane of dreads, and the spray of salt that tinged at her nose. Nothing quite felt as good as the open sea. Rr being behind the wheel of, The Dragons Maiden, her ship. A galleon designed for times of war, bringing supplies to port through blockades, thus was heavily armored in the front and had over twenty cannons on each side. However, what loomed on the horizon was something Sandra did not feel good about, as black clouds violently deposited their rain and lightning upon the open ocean ahead. Unfortunately, they had to sail through that, no way around it, and she steeled herself for the coming storm.

Many hours past, as the crew pulled lines tight and secured cargo. The scout in the crow’s nest looking for signs of anything ahead, called down to Sandra, “Capian’, I can’t see through the rain, this storm`ll be pretty fierce.”

Narrowing her eyes, Sandra looks into the storm clouds that welled up before her ship. This was unusual for this part of the route, the Aspurtian Sea was a relatively calm passage for ships traveling to Phobocior, and the only safe way as well. That is what bothered her most, as she watched the crew scurry about to their assigned tasks. Shouting across the deck, “Get the cannons loaded, and keep the powder dry, I have a feeling we might need them,” Sandra addresses her second mate, who rushes down and starts barking out orders. The sea was a harsh mistress, but she was fair, and Sandra felt this wasn’t right.

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Water sloshed over the deck as the galleon was thrown around by the heavy waves battering her hull. Sandra stood valiantly behind her wheel, keeping the ship driving as straight and true as she could. The storm was fierce, but nothing the galleon couldn’t handle. They had been in the storm for a few hours now, the top deck was a flurry of movement, as crew members kept the ships sails from ripping away in the heavy winds.

Suddenly a shout from the scout cut across the deck, “SHIP, TO THE STARBOARD SIDE!”

Sandra’s heart skipped a beat, where as a ship wasn’t an uncommon site, this close in a storm meant trouble. “Everyone get ready for whatever this ship might do, make yourselves useful, man the cannons and wait for my signal,” She yelled down to the deck.

The second mate standing below her, started barking out orders individually. The ship’s crew scrambled, cannons shoved up to portholes, deck hands securing the ropes down as best as possible before running and taking up long rifles.

Sandra looked over to the starboard side, and tried to peer out amongst the heavy rain to see what kind of ship was there. What she saw truly made her heart drop.

Whereas, The Dragons Maiden, was a galleon of war and its hull was plated in metal to help it against cannon shots and ramming actions, it was no warship. The ship to the starboard side was a warship, more specifically a pirate warship. The ships sails were patchwork and many different shades of colors, with a shark symbol on the main sail. The ship itself was longer than the galleon, but about as wide, and had an extra deck on the galleon. The side Sandra could see, bristled with around 40 cannons and the front had a ring of cannons facing all directions. However, the most terrifying part was lower front of the ship was a mouth, and not just the likeness of one, but a literal mouth. Currently it was closed, but from hinges, Sandra could see it would open and most likely be used to gain entrance to the side of a ship, or snap a ship in two.

Fear gripped Sandra, the tales couldn’t be true she told herself, they were just an old drunken tale told by sailors far from sane. Babbled stories about a living ship that would devour anything in its way, a crew of immortal half humanoid half creatures, and a captain more ruthless than the entirety of the Pirate Conclave. This had to be her imagination, she kept telling herself, as she wiped hair out of the way gazing out again towards the other ship. But it didn’t disappear. It not only didn’t disappear, but now small figures could be made out on its deck, some bigger figures seemingly jumping off into the water. Sandra knew it was slim they would make it, but she wasn’t going to lose The Dragons Maiden or its crew this day, she had worked too hard to get this ship for that.

Long moments passed as the crew waited for an order. A sudden quiet fell over the ship, but for the crack of thunder, waves crashing against the sides, and rain hitting the deck. The other ship loomed closer and closer, growing in size. When it came within firing range of the galleon, all hell broke loose.

“FIRE,” Sandra shouted down to the deck, as twenty men all put their spark stick up the cannon heads and lit the powder. The whole ship shuddered, wood creaking and groaning in protest to the sudden force. Sandra smiled for a brief second, as twenty cannon rounds rocketed towards the beast ship. Another product of being a war galleon, the cannons of hers were on turn tables and could be angled to hit even if not directly in front of the ship. So, twenty balls of burning steel propelled themselves at the opposing ship.

The beast ship truly was a warship, as all 20 cannon shots impacted with the hull and only dented the metal plating on its front and sides, with only a lucky shot hitting one of the forward-facing cannons flinging it backwards. The ship itself was unaffected and continued its purposeful approach towards the galleon. A second barrage of cannon shots once again impacted with the hull, much to the same effect, no true damage being visible along the metal hull.

Doubt sank into Sandra’s heart at the lack of damage to the beast ship. Not even the steel of an Empire Man of War could repel that many shots without taking at least a decent beating.

The beast ship closed the final distance unnaturally fast, closing the gap of a couple hundred feet in what felt like the blink of an eye. The front of the ship opened up on its last few seconds of approach and created a gaping maw, lined with cannons and sharp metal ramming spikes. The galleon however rocked before the actual impact of the beast ship, as if something else had rammed into it from the other side, and suddenly the galleon was practically pushed into the oncoming beast ship. Cannons fired from the gaping maw, weakening the hull for the metal ramming spikes to puncture deep. Once the spikes found purchase, the gaping maw seemingly bit down, practically eating the side of the galleon.

Screams could be heard from below deck, as Sandra assumed her crew were impaled by cannon shots or metal spikes. She knew it was over at that moment, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Stepping away from her wheel, she rushed down the stairs to the deck and waited for the enemy to jump onto her galleon.

What came next took her once again by surprise, as two giant beasts climbed up from behind her and stood up on the deck. Both were the size of two men, and both had rusted iron plates bolted to their skin in many different places. They were humanoid like, but they had shark like features, their skin was scaled, and they had fins on their arms, legs, and back. Both had rusted iron plate helmets, and burning red eyes. However, as one of them reared back to take a swing at her, it was rocketed back into the water as a cannon shot took it in the chest. The other spotting the crew member who had turned the cannon towards it, swatted him like a toy, and turned his head and shoulders into a red pulp. It roared out a cry that shook the entire deck, and every man and women who could see the beast was paralyzed in fear.

Below deck, a flood of water rushed in on the lowest level, slowly rising. While a torrent of humanoid beast flew from the maw of the beast ship, most bearing rusted weapons and armor, but others using their natural spikes and claws as weapons. They tore into the crew without mercy, who put up the best resistance they could. Swords of steel met claws and rusted iron, the fighting was brutal. The crew of the galleon used practiced techniques of swordsman ship, but the brute creatures powered through, openly ignoring most of the wounds incurred on them. They reveled in the pain it seemed, and used it to fuel their rage killing all in sight.

Sandra shakes her head, and steels herself against the approaching armored beast creature, which strides towards her roaring. She draws her rapier and holds it to her side, waiting for the creature to attack. Its long strides picked up speed, and it lowered its head making to headbutt her into the cabin behind her. She waited for it to get close before diving underneath and raking the rapier across its inner thigh, blue black blood pours from the wound, as it carries on, roaring now in pain. Its momentum carries it all the way into the cabin, splintering wood in all directions and smashing the door in.

The beast pulls its horns out of the wood, stumbling backwards, while Sandra works on carving its back and lower legs with her rapier. It shook its head and roared again, once again stunning all those around it in fear. Sandra felt the dread as she realized she wasn’t doing much as the creatures’ wounds just seemed to close by themselves, and she stumbled backwards falling to the deck. Her grip on the rapier fails, and it scatters across the deck behind her. Staring up at the beast creature, it turns and faces Sandra. A feral smile denoting some intelligence crosses its face, and it brings one of its meaty forearms back, before bringing it to hit her across the torso.

Sandra had never felt pain that great before, her ribs cracked and she was lifted from the ground, propelled off and over the side of the ship limply splashing into the turbulent waters below. She could barely move her arms, but willed herself to swim through the pain, bringing herself back to the surface. She looked up the side of her ship, The Dragons Maiden, and knew it was over. Suddenly the side of the ship blew outwards with a violent explosion, the metal not meant to take a hit from the inside, buckled and wood and bits of metal funneled outwards. It was followed by several loose cannons being rocketed out as more explosions followed. One cannon fell into the water right next to Sandra, and a rope that had been securing it caught her around the neck. Realizing what had just happened, she tried to pry the rope from around her neck, but it grew taut too quickly. Not strong enough, and with nothing to cut the rope, she knew what her fate was. Worse than dying with her ship, she was going to drown, and there was nothing she could do about it. She grasped a final time towards the surface as she was dragged into the depths. She begged and prayed for mercy, as the air left her lungs, and struggled to be released from the rope. But all the air had left her, and she could feel her body start to seize, then blackness.

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Someone heard her prayers however, and Sandra’s lifeless form was whisked from the water. She awoke with a sputter, water jettisoning from her mouth in large quantities, as she puked all over the deck around her. Opening her eyes, she looks all around, trying to figure out what happened. It had to be a nightmare, she told herself. Her vision cleared of a watery fogginess, and she felt her heart sink. Except there was no heart to sink, as she clutched her chest and felt no beat. She started to panic, and harsh laughter filled the air around her.

“Watch what yu’ wish for lassy,” came a voice, followed by more laughter.

 

[Leooo]

Wow, nice. Those are really interesting! ^^

 

[Emelia Synphia]

Thanks! I appreciate the compliment!

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Gods Mortality

Dark and foreboding, the black iron mask curled up in a sinister sneer, unmoving and ever-watching. Nothing escaped its watch within the valley. A solo white lily blossom rose up from the dirt in front of the masked entity, a testament to the beauty of the world, as the bloodied and trampled land around it and the masked being was slowly soaked by a crimson liquid.

The sounds of thoughtful footfalls is heard behind the masked being, who is now reaching down and slowly plucks the beautiful flower, admiring its tenacity to live through all the cruelty around it. As if the world crying out at the last bit of beauty being plucked from its grasp, a single bead of dew drips from its petal. Painfully, slowly, the droplet falls before splashing, with nearly no noticeable significance, into the blood drenched land it had just been taken from. A final note to the peaceful ways of a once innocent land.

The masked figure watches, paying no heed to the sounds behind it. Nothing mattered more than to witness nature itself accept the bitter fate its offspring would bring to her serene form. A tear of its own flowed down from beneath the darkened mask, knowing the consequences that had been wrought from the atrocities around it.

The quiet footsteps suddenly stopped and a clash of steel rings out across the desolate scene. The fading beauty of the flower forgotten as it slowly fell to the ground, forgotten by the need to live. Another flurry of rings is heard as a solo black iron sword meets those of two white near glowing curved blades. The sound of small scrapes as metal impacted metal and the softer impacts of leathered flesh upon leathered flesh, escaped from the scene of equally beautiful but terrifying presences moving in and out, in what seemed to be a choreographed dance of death.

The figures were one out of legends. A white knight of near angelic beauty, armored shoulders carved with ornate depictions of angels slaying demons and the holy symbol of Bahamut adorning the helmets crest, screams out with fury at the figure in front of it. The sound seems to emanate from a beautifully sad face inlaid into the breastplate of the warrior, while a black liquid slowly seeps from cuts in the armor perverting the white knights’ appearance. The swords it swings are just as bedecked in gold and jewels, curving out from the hilts shaped as angels, are two blades of silver that seem to glide through the air with as if it were the wind itself, colliding in what seemed like an impossible amount of times.

Unlike the perverted white angel that struck at it, the obsidian warrior of iron stood in what seemed like a mortals attempt to folly with gods, as the cruel but elegant design, was showered with spatters of crimson life from where the cruel silver blades met its form. The emblazoned lion upon its one shoulder was its only detail, and remained untarnished and unscathed from the assault, as small grunts came from behind the sneering mask. It however met the cruel biting blades with large deliberate strikes of a huge granite like blade.

Twin opposites fought in stark contrast to each other. The near perfect glide of a creator was met by the clumsy but adaptive created, the latter mortal somehow able to stand up to the near god like being in front of it. The two weaved in and out, the sneering mask parried a blow with the flat of the large blade before twisting it up and over towards the white knight and its dancing form before being deflected by crossed swords, but driving the knights’ feet back into dirt. A sudden pause as the duets blades were held locked in a stalemate, immortal strength pitted against mortal ferocity. Crimson flowed down the silver and intermingled with the black oil that slicked the greatsword, turning into a ruddy brown that sludged to the ground beneath, further staining the lands with the life force of two beings.

A sudden flash of divine energy as the granite blade seems to sheer in half where the silver blades just resided. The angel steps forward under the heavy arcing half greatsword and drives one point of silver into the snarling lion on the obsidian warriors shoulder, while the other plunges into the gut, but not before the remaining half of the great sword arcs down and collides with the silver blade in its owners’ shoulder. Another flash, though this time arcane in nature, as the large sword shears through silver blade and then through white armor, severing its lower arm from the other blade.

A piercing scream is heard as the angelic knight takes a step back and looks at the jet fluids flowing from its missing appendage, but is cut short by an impossibly loud crunch, ending it as quickly as it started.

Blood slowly flows from the two impaled blades in the sneering masks body, who releases the grip of its sword, letting the weight of it pull the lifeless form of the white angel down with it. Crashing to a knee, gasps are heard as the warrior looks down at the still impaled blade resides in its stomach, life fluids flowing freely. A tear falls from beneath the mask as the once beautiful lily falls from its gauntleted fingers, still pristine but for a smear of its own blood spattered over its petals. Another tear, as it wraps the dark metal fingers around the blade, the flower slowly flutters down. And another as it slowly pulls on the blade, the blades owners hand having already relinquished its grip, and painfully drags the blade out. Blood flows faster and faster, until finally a spray of blood as the silver is removed. A final tear as a gasp of pain leaves the sneering mask. It looks down upon the lily, now lying still, in a well of crimson that surrounds the obsidian warrior.

 

[Emelia Synphia]

Hextor and The Primordial Titan Louthian

A being of divine beauty stands before a statue, depicting its exact likeness in a crude mortal manner, slowly studying its features. Flower pedals of white flow all around it, swirling in small eddies, before being whisked away by the wind. Gold essence mingles with the flowers as they come too close the Primordial, and it slowly reaches out and lets the pedals flow around its hand. Turning, the Primordial is a deep blue hue of fur, its long flowing mane slowly ebbing to white, while its tail colors slowly shift between blue and gold. Magical runes glow bright and fade to dullness over and over all across the being’s body, while a gold essence hangs like a haze around it. The Primordial wears only a simple loin cloth around its waist, it a darker shade of blue and rimmed with gold stitching’s, the hair in the front braded with gold metal strips intertwined. Its face elongates into a snout with short black fur, white gold eyes of pure brilliance peer out across the distance with otherworldly nature. Its fists are bound with further gold metal wrappings, seemingly fabric like with how fluidly they form and move around the Primordial`s fingers.

The being stands in a stone courtyard of a temple, smoke and flames rise all around, but seemingly leaving this space untouched. Trees are all around, all blooming with white and red pedal flowers, and wave lazily in the cinder laden winds that flow through the courtyard. Despite the destruction, it’s serene peace stands a testament to all around it, challenging anything to rip the beauty away.

However, as the being looks across the cobblestone, another figure walks from a burning building, flames licking at the tabards wrapped around its body. This figure isn’t perfection, like the other, but instead chaos and order at the same time. A body of natural tones, but reds and purples which flow around like clouds across its skin. A single metal pauldron adorns its muscled left shoulder, while the rest of the chest lies bare. Tabards wrap around its waist, singed and waving rapidly in the updrafts from the burning building. Armored boots clank on the stone harshly, ringing like a death bell for all that hear it, while a metal dial floats behind ever shifting, forming a fist grasp six arrows before going back to swirling chaos. The face is hard and hairless, almost stone like, but is masculine and shows many scars from countless battles. Three arms sit to each side of the man, each fist wrapped in thick cords, and slowly clench and unclench as it steps further into the courtyard.

The Primordial raises its hand once more, and the pedals once again flow around it in an infinite circle, “Is it time my child, do you come to stay my hand of judgement, or is that time long past.” The deep otherworldly voice carries effortlessly around the courtyard.

“Judgement unrightfully due, you think of this as a mere game in your everchanging reality, you forget that order must be kept,” Shoots a much more grizzled voice from the six-armed man.

Suddenly the winds stop, the pedals fall lazily to the ground, the Primordial looks at the man standing before him. “Nothing pains me more than your belief that I am wrong, my child, I beg of you to stop this folly before you bring about actions irreversible.” A golden stream starts to fall from one eye, “Every wish granted, I denied you nothing. Freedom granted was my greatest err, and for that, I am met with subterfuge against me. Tal’Yirn warned me of your ways, Hextor, but alas I turned my ear away, hoping in my deepest hopes, that he remained wrong. However, we stand here now on our final moons, looking over the world that destine to be our downfall.”

Hextor, shifting uncomfortably with the mention of his name, looked back at the Primordial.

“My child, dear Hextor, my greatest achievement, who plots against me, why must rebellion be your ways. Was it that thrice-damned Vecna you so lovingly court, or her brother Heironeous always talking about our lack of courage to stand for what he believes are crimes against mortals? Why is it, that this world must be rid of your so-called blight? Is not life good enough, or must you steal away the powers you so longed for, but have been denied? But I see you have no words for me, that has always been your way. Then, let me not disappoint you, for I shall not strike a blow upon your body, my child.” The final words nothing but a whisper, as the gold runes across the Primordial`s body shine brighter and the winds pick up again this time with much greater fervor.

Rain slowly begins to patter on the stone, and picks up in intensity quickly, rapidly soaking the courtyard. The winds, now gale like, whip leaves and debris from the burning temple through the air, while lightning strikes down all around.

The statue of the Primordial is suddenly alone from its living likeness, while the six-armed man tenses, muscles flexing and fists curling. Without hesitation, the man punches out with a fist, and out of thin air the Primordial being once again appears, but is thrown back from the punch across the courtyard into the statue. Shattering, the statue crumbles from the impact, dust of stone and gold essence intermingle.

Standing up, gold tears now flow down the Primordial`s face, contrasting greatly against the black fur. They patter on the ground, turning to gold dust on impact, before being gusted away by the gale. Eyes narrow, the being disappears again, and seconds later appears in front of the man. Not flinching, the being reaches his hand out and grabs Hextor by the jaw, raising it up and inspecting its features as if searching for something.

Hextor was stunned only for a moment though, as another fist strikes out at the Primordial. This one is caught in the free hand of the being, and the raw strength of the blow causes a thunderclap that rocks the trees in the courtyard.

“You fight me with such disdain, have I erred this badly, my child.” The golden eyes then lock with the rage filled eyes of Hextor, softening as a slight smile appears at the edges of its lips.

Another fist rockets from Hextor, but stops with another thunderclap, as the gold essence seems to form another hand and stops the attack. “You mock me even in death, yet you wonder why your downfall is upon you,” Hextor spits with venom back. Another fist is thrown in a blur, and once again is stopped by the gold essence. Followed by another, and another, all being thwarted by the golden hands.

“So I do, but maybe it is you who mocks me, by turning against your creator. Your father. I was wrong you know,” the final words once again a whisper. The golden hands suddenly dissipates and the fists continues on with all their original momentum striking the Primordial once again. This time however, the being only slides back a few feet, and in its eyes you can see the recognition of defeat. “Child, know that you can never go back from this moment. That you will never be satisfied by the outcome of this war of your compatriots. However, I will not be destined to the same fate as my brethren.” The last words are uttered more to itself than out loud, and as sudden as the gale started, it ends and the Primordial with it.